How Do I Love Thee
by LadyKayoss
Summary: Movieverse Otto Octavius has never been a Ladies Man. So what's a poor supervillain to do when he suddenly finds himself the most desirable man in New York?
1. Impending Doom

Disclaimer: Characters and concepts all belong to Marvel. I just use them for my own twisted little tales.

Author's Note: This fic was born from the surprising female response towards Doc Ock after the movie came out. I think he'd be a bit terrified at the fangirls he's attracted... grins This is my first foray into this fandom (be gentle!), so I thought I'd start with something simple and fun. I had intended for this to be all one story instead of multi-chaptered, but time was against me. So read, review, and tell me if I should continue this. It gets funnier. I promise.

_**How Do I Love Thee...**_

_One: Impending Doom_

It was an annual event, as inevitable as Jameson's daily rants, and just as fun for all those participating. It involved a deluge of letters from the _Bugle_'s five million readers, a long day followed by an even longer sleepless night in a room crammed full of boxes of said letters, and a handful of unlucky staff members who hadn't been able to come up with a creative enough excuse to get out of this tedious chore.

It was time to choose New York's Most Desirable Man, a yearly tradition begun after many female readers accused the _Daily Bugle _of chauvinism when they launched the Most Desirable Woman campaign for Valentine's Day. Every female reader – and a healthy portion of the homosexual male audience – would write in, choosing the man they thought the most appealing, the sexiest, the most desirable man living in the city.

Jameson had come to enjoy the annual story, even as his staff grew to dread it. Published in the _Bugle_'s morning edition, it sold out before ten a.m. And as for the evening edition... well, it was always chock full of stories about the lucky – or, rather, unlucky – man who had been chosen being mobbed by hordes of crazy females.

All in all, it was a yearly occurrence enjoyed only by their esteemed publisher and every desperate woman in the city.

"My God... there are more and more of these every year!" Betty Brant said, dismayed. The piles of boxes lined the walls almost to the ceiling and were packed five deep, leaving only a narrow strip of cracked linoleum occupied by three chairs – not even enough for all the 'volunteers.' It was going to be like spending the night in a sardine can. Betty prayed all the others had showered recently.

Behind her, Hoffman's eyes widened behind his glasses. He looked about ready to flee the scene. But then, he'd always given that impression. The fact that he'd never run screaming from one of Jameson's tirades proved he was made of sterner stuff than most. "I'm glad the coffee machine's right next door... we're going to need a lot of it. Assuming Mr. Jameson doesn't lock us in again this year."

"He said it was an accident," Joe "Robbie" Robertson, the city editor, said as he entered behind them and claimed one of the chairs.

"Then why did he refuse to let us out until we agreed that all votes for Spider-Man didn't count?" Ben Urich, one of the _Bugle_'s best staff reporters, growled. "Thought I was going to kill somebody that night."

"Wait... you don't count any votes for Spider-Man?" This was from a new victim, a first-timer who had never been through the hell that was spending an entire day and night reading gushing letters about why so-and-so was so hot and dreamy. Jameson must have been desperate if he'd involved a freelance photographer in this. Of course, Peter Parker was known to be strapped for cash; it was why Betty had gleefully suggested him.

"Don't sound so surprised," Betty said. "Jameson was so pissed the year Spider-Man won that he banned all votes for him on the grounds that no one can actually prove Spider-Man is a man."

Peter looked outraged at this until Urich added, "Spider-Man wouldn't want to win, anyway. Can you imagine him swinging around the city, being chased by screaming woman who just want a piece of his outfit? It'd be worse than that riot I covered that was outside Harry Osborn's building when he won last year." Urich shuddered. "I can still see the aftermath of the tear gas... all those mascara-streaked faces... like a pack of shrieking, blood-thirsty clowns..." His voice broke.

Robbie patted Urich's shoulder comfortingly, while the others just stared.

"Umkay," Betty said after a moment of awkward silence. "Let's get this started, shall we?"

XXX

About twenty letters in, Betty knew this was going to be an odd year. She frowned as she encountered the same name for the thirteenth time, then finally turned to Robbie. "Er... are women allowed to vote for _him?_" she asked uncertainly.

Robbie glanced at the letter. "Oh, you've got a couple with him, too? Well, he's not on Jonah's 'NO' list, so I assume we have to count them."

Hoffman and Urich both glanced up from their work to see who the were talking about. "Wait, we _are _supposed to count him? Dammit, now I've got to start over again!" Hoffman moaned.

Peter Parker was ignoring them. He'd chosen to sit on the floor, letting Betty, Robbie, and Urich take the seats. He was already halfway through his first box of letters. He was also blushing a bright shade of scarlet. "Some of these letters are... detailed, aren't they?" he said, voice cracking. He tossed the letter into the discard – AKA the Spider-man vote – letter pile.

"Mr. Jameson's rules for this let women write whatever they want. It works with the Desirable Woman bit since men usually don't write more than the names, but women..." Betty shrugged. "It's not a very well thought out contest. Believe me, you'll find many, many more just like that. Just be glad you aren't famous enough that woman fantasize about you," Betty said, grinning ruefully.

Peter glanced towards the growing Spider-man pile, and he smiled weakly. "Guess there's something to be said about anonymity."

Hours passed. Other volunteers came and left as their schedule allowed, and even Jameson stepped in to help by reading a grand total of two letters, both of which ended up being for Spider-man. Jameson had left in disgust.

There were only two incidents that broke the monotony of their task: The first was Hoffman's discovery of a steamy letter about none other than their own Peter Parker. Hoffman's eyes had bulged and he said, "Wow... this 'MJW' has a _really _high opinion of you, Peter." He was in the middle of passing the letter to Urich when Peter, showing shocking speed, yanked it from their hands. His blue eyes widened as he scanned the letter, and he muttered, "Oh, God, MJ – I _told _you other people read these!"

"What'd it say?" Urich demanded.

"I'll tell you later," Hoffman told him.

Peter turned beet red.

"So much for anonymity," Betty smirked.

The second incident was the letter from Mrs. Jameson. As inevitable as the Most Desirable Man feature itself, Mrs. Jameson's letters were always poorly-written attempts at extolling her husband's virtues. Betty had always wondered if the woman simply had no skill as a writer, or if these letters were just half-hearted attempts at pleasing her husband. Now she knew it was the latter; this year, Mrs. Jameson had forgone the praise for his husband (bringing his vote total to an all-time low of zero) in order to write a passionate letter about this year's surprise leader. Her poignant use of words like "tragic," "haunted," and "broken" revealed that she had the soul of a poet.

"Think we should show that one to Jonah?" Robbie asked.

"As satisfying as that would be," Betty warned, "I think it's safer for all of us if we let him continue to live in that own little world of his where he's the perfect husband and it's legal to make up his own news."

They worked well into the night; around midnight, Peter Parker found an excuse to leave, first saying he was going to check the voicemail on his cell, then saying he had an emergency to attend to. It was obviously fabricated, since Betty knew he didn't _have _a cell phone, but she let him go. The poor boy didn't look as if he could take any more dirty letters – it was charming to see that he hadn't lost his innocence.

Finally, as dawn neared, the coffee machine ran out, and tempers were frayed (with the exception of Hoffman, who had fallen asleep sometime near three a.m. and couldn't be woken even by extensive poking and prodding), half of the letters had been read. However, there was a clear winner, with sixty percent of the votes, and that was good enough for the weary readers. They had never finished reading every letter in the years since they started this feature, but Jameson didn't need to know that.

"What do you think?" Robbie asked after they turned in their results to the writer who faced the challenge of writing up a profile for the new Desirable Man before the morning edition of the _Bugle _saw print. The writer had almost burst into tears when he saw just who he had to make seem worthy of the 'honor.'

"For his sake, I hope the rumors that he survived aren't true," Betty said. "Otherwise, his life is about to become a living hell."

XXX

_My life is a living hell, _the figure crouched on the corner of the building thought bitterly. _It's not just because my wife is dead, my reputation is ruined, and I have the world's most _lame _criminal monicker. _Dr. Otto Octavius pulled off the night-vision goggles and stuffed them into the pocket of his battered coat. The defenses of the building across the street matched what his sources had told him, and he'd come to the reluctant conclusion that he'd have to pull his little raid off in broad daylight, unless he was willing to kill all the guards and destroy the building in the process. _It's not because my creations are fused to my spine, have invaded my mind, and try to manipulate me. _The bickering that had been going on in the back of his mind increased in volume, and the careful mental wall he'd built to block out the voices crumbled as they rose in excitement. _No... my life is hell because my inventions have a learning program. My life is hell because they've discovered the concept of 'gossip!'_

_**Father should wear a black leather coat for our next crime. We would look good in black leather.**_

_**Maybe Father should wear tights, like Spider-Man! In green. I like green...**_

_**Uck! Why not suggest he get a bowl cut next? Father has too much dignity to wear tights.**_

Why, oh why, had he let them read that fashion magazine they'd found in the trash? It had taken him a week to explain to them the difference between male and female fashions. At one point, they'd wanted him to wear pink...

They'd been nagging at him to change his outfit ever since. Nagging in those peculiar voices they'd developed... When they'd first begun to speak to him in the hospital, their voices had been distinctly mechanical, and speaking in perfect harmony. But as the AI's learning program kicked in, they'd begun to develop distinct personalities. And their voices were changing to match, sounding almost... human. They reminded him of something, but he hadn't been able to place just what, yet.

**_Father does not have the figure to wear tights, _**one of the tentacles corrected.

**_Do not say that! Father is perfect! _**The tentacle that had defended him curled over his shoulder, the cold metal of its closed pincer brushing his cheek.

They were getting a lot more touchy-feely, too. Otto never thought he'd miss the day when they were obsessed little monsters.

_Will you focus?! _He snarled at theim. _We're trying to plan a... a liberation of scientific equipment that would rightfully belong to me if my life wasn't a living hell. _He refused to think of it as a robbery. He didn't like to think of himself as a criminal; just an under-funded scientist.

_**Why don't we just go in now? We can just smash the safe and be out of there. **_

_**But then no one will see what we are wearing!**_

_And I don't want to kill anyone! _Otto reminded them. The piece of equipment the desired was stored in a high-security vault at night, somewhere in the building's heart. Getting to it would involve bypassing multiple guards and knocking down many walls. Someone would get hurt in the process. During the day, however, it was on display in a glass case for people too ignorant to understand it to gawk at. Security would be at a minimum because who would be stupid enough to pull of such a robbery in broad daylight? And the potential for hostages would further minimize the chance of someone getting hurt.

_**Do not worry, Father. We will not fail you.**_

At least he could count on them to behave; their emerging personalities hadn't affected their performance in any way. _I think this will go well, _he told them. _At least it will if those morons I hired to distract the wall-crawler do their job right. _He smiled. _Look out, New York; in a few hours, you will know that Doctor Octopus is still a force to be reckoned with. _His smile changed into a scowl. _God, that's such a lame name. I really, really need to find some way to repay the _Bugle _for it._

He gave the tentacles the command to take him out of there, towards the abandoned warehouse he was using as his current hideout. He didn't glance down as he passed over a newsstand that was just receiving a shipment of the _Daily Bugle _morning edition. He had little interest in newspapers at the moment, so busy was he planning out his robbery.

Had he stopped to pick up the _Daily Bugle, _however, he'd have seen something that would force him to rethink his plans for the day. He'd have realized that the headline 'DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS SURPRISE CHOICE FOR MOST DESIRABLE MAN IN NEW YORK' would mean certain doom.

To be continued...


	2. Women Troubles

Disclaimer: We all know that Marvel owns the characters involved. We also are pretty certain no money is being made from this fic.

Author's Note: Oi! I didn't know was eliminating my asterisks! Poor chapter one didn't have any breaks between sections... I had to re-upload it to make it look better. Anyway, here is part two... I tried getting this out as quickly as I could, despite a busy schedule and limited computer access, and I'll try to get the next one out next week. Hopefully, this chapter will be more amusing than the last. And at least it has more Otto. Can't go wrong with that, right?

_**How Do I Love Thee...**_

_Two – Woman Troubles_

**_We don't like it under here, Father. We can't breathe._**

_You're machines. You _don't _breathe, remember? _When Otto had been there only hours before, the campus of Empire State University had been completely devoid of life. Now, though, it was teeming with students, and he had to push his way through the press of bodies. He hoped that these people would have the sense to run away when he performed his little smash-and-grab.

Part of him regretted stealing – no, _liberating, _he reminded himself - equipment from a university. So many of his fondest memories were from his own college years, after all; he felt bad that he could be about to ruin someone else's memories. But how else was he going to get equipment for his experiments?

He pulled his coat more tightly around himself, ignoring the protests of the tentacles hidden beneath. Fortunately, the fall weather was chilly, making long coats and hats common enough that he didn't draw any attention.

He did worry every time someone passed closely enough to brush against him, however. All it would take to blow his cover would be for someone to feel the tentacles under his coat. Or, worse, he could run in to someone he knew. Theoretically, Peter Parker was a student here, though his duties as Spider-Man usually kept him far away. Or he could run in to Curtis Connors. He missed talking to his old friend, but he didn't think it'd be a good thing if they met like this.

But he safely made it into position with time to spare; now, he needed only to wait for noon, when the gang of thugs he'd hired would create a diversion across the city that would hopefully keep Spider-Man occupied. He still had twenty minutes, so he headed towards a small campus café within view of his target. He bought a coffee, then headed towards one of the empty tables. He had to turn one of the chairs backwards before he could take a seat; the tentacles made simple tasks like sitting a real chore.

He savored the coffee, concentrating on it to the exclusion of all else. He didn't see the young woman at the closest table put down her copy of the _Daily Bugle _and look at him strangely, then glance back down at her paper. Her eyes widened.

Fortunately, before she could react, the tiny dog that'd been curled at her ankles suddenly jumped to its feet and began yapping. Otto glanced over, and stiffened when he saw one of the tentacles had snaked out from under his coat and was examining the dog, who was savagely defending its owner as if it were a Great Dane rather than a Pomeranian.

_**It's so small and fuzzy! Can we have one?**_

_Get back under my coat! _He thought furiously at the errant actuator. It obeyed, though he could sense its reluctance. The woman scowled at her dog and stood up as the café patrons shot her irritated looks. "C'mon, Mutt," she muttered as she dragged the yipping fuzzball away. She left her copy of the _Bugle _on the table, and a stray gust of wind blew it off. Otto ignored it as it fluttered past him, though one of the tentacles sensed the movement and impulsively snatched it when it caught in the legs of Otto's chair.

_**Father? Maybe you should see this.**_

Otto glanced at his watch. _Not now. It's almost show time. Focus on why we're here. Don't let anything distract you. _Not that he needed to warn them; he had faith that they would follow his instructions to the letter.

_**We won't let you down, Father.**_

_**We will follow the plan.**_

_**No one will stand in our way.**_

_**We should have worn black leather. We would look much more impressive in black leather.**_

Well, three out of four wasn't so bad.

After a quick once-over to make sure his hat and sunglasses were secure, Otto swaggered over to the building that housed the laboratories where the serious experiments were carried out. Most of the building was off-limits to students without special passes, but it had a museum of sorts open to the public, and the item he desired was currently on display during the day.

At least, he'd _thought _it was open to the public.

"Sorry, sir, but I can't let you in without a student ID," the security guard at the door, a scrawny youth who couldn't have been more than twenty, told Otto.

_**This wasn't in the plan, Father. **_

He really didn't need comments from the peanut gallery right now.

_**Can we just smash through the walls? We like smashing things. **_

_There's no smashing until we get in and grab our target. We can't risk damaging it on accident! I can handle this. It's only a minor inconvenience. _Otto opened his mouth to speak."Out of my way, cretin. Do you not recognize the great Doctor Octopus? If you value your life, move, or I shall crush you like a bug!" He didn't actually say this, though it was running through his mind, and it probably would have been far more effective than what the great genius did actually say. "Er... student ID?"

"Yeah. We don't let just anyone walk in here, you know. You must have a student ID, be accompanied by someone who has one, or be a professor, which I know you aren't because I've never seen you before." The kid sounded smug; clearly, the power of his position was going to his head. "Otherwise, any old bum could come in off the streets and take advantage of ESU." From the look he shot Otto's battered coat, it was clear just what he thought of Otto. _Do I really look like a bum? I mean, my coat's a little tattered, but is it that bad?_

_**See, Father? Even he thinks you should have changed your look!**_

_Just shut up about that, will you? _he thought wearily. _This is neither the time nor the place!_

Great. So what was he going to do now? It was starting to look like he would have to smash his way in, after all. And he was going to have to hurry; he was losing his window of opportunity. "Ah," he began.

"Hey! He's with me!" The voice made both Otto and the guard whirl in surprise. A young woman with frizzy brown hair and glasses came over to them, grinning broadly. After a moment, Otto recognized her as the girl with the dog at the café (this was helped by the fact that her tattered duffel bag was squirming around, making peculiar _yip _noises.) She fished a plastic card out of her bag's side pocket and showed it to the guard. Then she grabbed the dumbstruck Otto's arm and dragged him through the door.

"I... I think you got the wrong man," Otto said after a moment, still too shocked to realize that he should be thanking this girl for helping him get inside.

She looked him up and down. "Nope," she said. Then, unexpectedly, she threw her arms around him, accidentally squishing her protesting dog in the process. At Otto's dumbfounded look, she said, "I've been wanting to do that for awhile. You look like you really need it." With that, she turned and walked back through the entrance.

Otto just stood there, blinking stupidly. "Okay... that was bizarre."

Then he shrugged. _Okay, I'm just finally having a run of _good_ luck. I shouldn't question it._

He made it the display case with no more weird incidents. He glanced quickly around, and was relieved when he saw only students and professors around him. They would run when he loosed the tentacles, unlike security guards, who would try to play the hero and likely be injured in the process. With a smile, he gave the tentacles the command to free themselves from his coat and smash the display case.

As they snaked out over his shoulders, all hell broke loose, as expected.

Just... not in the way he'd thought.

"OhmyGod, he's _here!_"

"It's Dr. Octavius!"

"Wow... the tentacles look so _sexy._"

"He looks so much better in real life!"

Okay... that couldn't be right. He was pretty certain robberies should be accompanied by the sound of screaming and running and police telling him to put his hands in the air... Otto turned slowly away from the display case, and found himself face to face with a crowd of women. His little display had driven away the male students – he could see them running through the door, led by the scrawny security guard – but the women were still there, muttering amongst themselves.

_Uh... are they saying what I _think _they're saying? _There were strange looks on the women's faces, almost _hungry _looks. They stood together in a mob, moving slowly closer. Otto suddenly felt like a deer who'd just been cornered by a pack of hungry wolves. _What are they doing? _Worse, they'd effectively blocked off his escape, unless he was willing to actually hurt someone to get out.

**_Yes! We should hurt them! _**The ferocity in the tentacles' voices shocked him. _**They want to take you away from us! ** _

"I don't think you realize the danger you're all in," Otto said. "Don't you know who I am? I'm Doctor Octopus," – for him to actually refer to himself by that name showed just how desperate he was for these women to understand – "and I'm here to liberate – no, to _steal _this piece of equipment here. In a few moments, either the police or Spider-Man will come, and I will be forced to take one of you as a hostage unless you all _run."_

It should have sent them running. He would have run, if some crazy scientist had threatened him. But something about his words had further encouraged the mob.

"A hostage?" a blond squealed. "You need a hostage? Take me!"

"Don't even think about it, you bimbo! You have a boyfriend! Take me, Dr. Octavius! I'd be such a good hostage!"

"No! Take me!"

"No! Me!"

It was as if a signal had been telegraphed to the mob; as one, the group of women lunged toward Otto, and he barely had time to order the tentacles to cover his face before they were on him.

XXX

He was late for class. Again. One of these days, Dr. Connors was going to finally lose it completely and rip into Peter. Heh... maybe the normally mild-mannered teacher would pull a Hulk and turn all big and green when he got angry... Spider-Man landed atop ESU's science building with the intention of slipping down the air vent after changing into his normal clothing. Really, it almost hadn't been worth it to leave campus; the idiots he'd left webbed in the lobby of the bank hadn't really known what they were doing. Really, something about their actions suggested they'd _wanted _Spider-Man to come after them.

He'd yanked off his mask and had yanked his pants up over his costume when he finally became aware that something was going on below him. Odd; whatever it was hadn't set off his spider-senses, but there seemed to be a large crowd gathering below.

He sighed. It was better to be safe than sorry. He yanked his pants back down and the mask back on, and swung down on a strand of web. "What's going on?" he asked a scrawny security guard. "Alpha Tau Omega didn't set another donkey loose in there, did they?"

"It looks like the mother of all catfights," the security guard said without looking back. "Which is odd since Doctor O – "

Spider-Man didn't hear the rest of what the guard was saying – he was rushing inside to watch – er, _help. _

Inside, he found a mass of woman, all of them shrieking incomprehensibly at the top of their lungs. They were almost all in a pile on top of something that was thrashing desperately to get free. There was biting, scratching, and kicking as the women competed for whatever was pinned beneath them, though loud yelps proved that their attacks occasionally hit whatever it was they were fighting over.

Spider-Man wanted to watch – but he had the feeling that if he didn't act soon, whoever was under there was going to suffocate. He shot webbing from both wrists, with each strand hitting a screaming woman on the back. With a flip of his wrists, he attached the other ends to the ceiling, leaving the two women dangling above. He repeated the process until he could almost see what was under them.

A gloved hand, followed by a scratched and bleeding arm encased in a tattered brown sleeve, pushed its way out of the pile of humanity. Another followed, and then suddenly the rest of the women were flung away, revealing a rather flattened supervillain.

Spider-Man stared as Dr. Octavius's tentacles helped him to his feet. He looked rather worse for wear, with his hair sticking up in haphazard tufts, the lenses of his sunglasses cracked, and his coat torn. "Ock?" Spider-Man said, gaping. "I thought you were dead!"

"Suddenly that seems a more pleasant alternative," Dr. Octavius said weakly, as he examined the scratches on his arms. The women who weren't webbed to the ceiling all watched him with concern, but they were keeping their distance. "What the hell is going on?"

Despite the fact that he knew Octavius couldn't have been at ESU for any good reason, he couldn't help but pity the other man. "You picked a really bad day to come back to life, Doc," Spider-Man said.

"Why?" Dr. Octavius began, but then a shriek from the entrance interrupted him.

"They were right! It _is _him!" Spider-Man turned and saw a new swarm of women, likely fresh out of class and ready to make up for the fact that they'd missed the initial excitement by forming a new crazy mob.

"Y'know, I'm willing to put off our discussion about why you showed up at ESU until later. For now, I think it'd be better for all of us if you ran like hell," Spider-Man said graciously.

Octavius didn't have to be told twice. The tentacles carried him towards the closest window and busted his way out. Spider-Man figured he had about two minutes before the women outside realized where he'd gone and followed after him. Meanwhile, Spider-Man figured he'd better make himself scarce, as well. It wasn't going to do his reputation any good when everyone realized he'd been webbing up innocent college students.

But, on the up side, he was sure Jameson was going to get a kick out of the photos of poor Octavius that Peter Parker was going to bring him. Maybe they were amusing enough that he'd make enough money to actually pay for rent on time. He knew _he _was going to have a good laugh over them.

XXX

He could hear them coming, a dull roar that was rapidly approaching, a tidal wave of humanity – of femininity – that for some reason wanted him. The closest building was straight ahead of him – across an open stretch of campus.

**_Why didn't you let us hurt those women? _**Their voices were angry. They'd been trapped beneath him when the women had mobbed him and their fury at being unable to push the attackers away had been almost as painful as being pinned.

_I don't want you to kill! _he told them. _Hurting them wouldn't have solved anything. _Though it probably would have been less humiliating than being saved by Spider-Man. Worse, he'd been saved from a bunch of _college girls._

They were getting closer. He could make out their words now, cries that would have been flattering had they not been screamed by a mob out for his blood. He remembered his high school years, when he envied the jocks who'd always had the most beautiful girls practically fling themselves at them. Suddenly, it seemed more like a curse.

The tentacles reached out and grabbed the brick of the building ahead of them, and suddenly, he was being lifted up, up, and away from the screaming horde. _Well, that's the end of that frightening little adventure._

Frightening, maybe... But the part of him that had been ignored by women so often in his youth had been strangely elated by the attention.

_**You... liked that, Father?**_

The tentacles halted their climb. One of them pulled loose and turned to face him.

_**Did you find those women pretty?**_

_What are you waiting for?_ They were out of reach... but he had the sickening feeling that if he stayed in one place too long, the screaming women below would find a way to get him._ Get me out of here before they tear me to pieces! _

But the tentacles would have none of it. He stared in astonishment and alarm as a second tentacle detached itself from the wall, and then a third. All three of them seemed to stare at him, despite not having any actual eyes. He could feel their anger smoldering in the back of his mind. _What did I do? _he asked, baffled. He reached for the wall in front of him, desperately wanting to get a grip in case the fourth tentacle decided to join the others in releasing the side of the building and dropping him to certain doom, either by injury from the fall itself or by being ripped to shreds by the rabid mob below.

**_Answer us, Father! Did you find those women pretty? _**The tentacles demanded in unison, their voices strangely shrill. **_Are they more pretty than us?!_**

"Will you settle down?" he snapped. "You're acting like a bunch of jealous teenage girls!"

That's when it hit him. Their high voices... their obsession with fashion... their animosity towards the women that had been mobbing him...

_Oh..._

..._shit..._

He stared at the tentacles with growing horror. "You... you're all _female!_"

To be continued...

I'm ashamed to admit it... I'm the girl with the dog... Pathetic, huh? But that is my actual reaction towards Otto; I really do, for some reason, want to hug him. I don't know what it is. I hadn't really planned to make the site of the robbery ESU, but I couldn't really think of a place that would have laboratory equipment and a lot of women! A special thanks for this fic goes out to my sister, who made me realize that the tentacles as psychopathic murderers would be much easier to deal with than the tentacles as teenage girls...


	3. Oedipus Complex

Disclaimer: Marvel owns 'em all. Not me. We're all clear on this, right?

Author's Note: To answer a question from my reviews, no, I don't have any plans to use cameos. The problem is, if I do a cameo for one person, it'd only be fair if I let everyone else who wanted a cameo to have one... and considering the surprising amount of readers that I'm getting, that could be complicated. Or a cameo could be done badly since I really don't know anything about any of you, and I'd offend the person in question. It's better to be safe than sorry. And I only have about two more chapters planned, anyway. But feel free to imagine yourself as any of the fangirls in the fic! And I must say, I'm surprised by the reaction to this fic. No one has even considered the tentacles to be female? I mean, I naturally think of them as male, too, but I can't believe that everyone thinks that way!

_**How Do I Love Thee...**_

_Three – Oedipus Complex_

Dr. Otto Octavius hadn't thought it was possible for his life to get any worse. He'd lost his wife, his life's work had failed him, he had back problems due to the massive set of tentacles fused to his spine, and he'd gone from being a scientist with dreams of helping humanity to a mad man who had nearly destroyed New York. He thought he'd hit rock bottom.

Wrong. Not only had all the women within a mile's radius of him gone insane and... and _mauled _him in a fit of lust, but now it seemed his women troubles had just taken a turn for the worse.

_How can you be female? You're machines. Your personalities are nothing more than programs. You have no gender! _

_**You are evading the question, father. Do you find those women prettier than us?**_

**_Would you rather _they _be with you, instead of us?_**

The noise below him grew louder. Otto glanced down, swallowing nervously when he realized just how many of those screaming banshees were below, and here he was being held up by just one tentacle which, if he didn't answer their questions to their satisfaction, would release him and send him to his death. Or worse. But what could he say to prevent that? He could tell he hadn't been far off base when he'd told the tentacles they'd sounded like jealous teens with crushes... _Somebody up there hates me... Was it the whole 'power of the sun in the palm of my hand' line? I know it was a bit pretentious, but was it worth this punishment?_

**_Father... _**The tentacles sounded impatient.

Well, at least he could answer their last question truthfully.

_Believe me, I would far rather have _you _attached to me than a bunch of screaming, crazy, desperate women. _

_**And what about the rest of it, Father? **_

_There's something that I need to explain to you. But not right here... Can we get out of here before those women rip me to pieces? Something which I know you would never, ever do. _He held his breath, waiting for the tentacles' response. Below him, one of the women had found a step ladder. It didn't look like it would reach him, but Otto wouldn't be surprised if they all suddenly developed spider powers and started crawling up the walls after him. That was just the way his luck was running.

There was silence in his mind as the tentacles withdrew to discuss this. Fortunately, when they weren't hampered by his slow human mind, their 'long' discussions usually lasted for only milliseconds.

They didn't need to tell him what they'd decided; after a few seconds, the tentacles lurched into motion, taking him away from the screaming horde below. **_We are not finished with this, Father, _**they warned. Otto wasn't looking forward to the impending discussion, but at least they were moving away. The tentacles wasted no time in clambering up the side of the building, then neatly launching him onto the rooftop of the next, and the next... He heard the tentacles mutter something about how slamming their faces into the brick couldn't be good for their looks, and how they wished they could slam the following women's heads into the walls... but he ignored them. At least they were leaving the women behind. The sound of the screaming had dwindled to nothing by the time the tentacles halted atop a building several blocks away from the ESU campus.

Otto used the opportunity to examine the tattered sleeves of his coat and the scratched flesh underneath. He winced when he saw a deep wound near his elbow where someone's eager nails had ripped a whole chunk of flesh away. "What happened back there?" he asked no one in particular. "They just... they just all went nuts!"

**_Perhaps it has something to do with this, _**one of the tentacles said. It pulled out the _Daily Bugle _it had snatched earlier and stuffed into one of his coat's inner pockets. Otto frowned, wondering what lies Jameson had printed now.

He could only stare at the words that took up half of the _Bugle'_s front page. _This... has got to be some sort of sick joke! _'DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS SURPRISE CHOICE FOR MOST DESIRABLE MAN IN NEW YORK,' screamed the headline. There was a photo of himself that he vaguely recognized as having appeared in some scientific journal before his experiment had gone wrong; had he ever really been as happy as he looked in that photo?

"If I had known you were alive, Doc, I might have tried to persuade Jameson not to pick you," a voice said from behind him. Otto didn't have to turn around; he knew the wall-crawler was the only one who could have found him up here.

"You're all heart," Otto growled.

"Hey, I wouldn't have wished that mob on my worst enemy," Spider-Man said. He circled around until he was standing in front of Otto, carefully keeping out of the tentacles' range.

Otto stuffed the _Bugle _in his pocket. "Oh, is that what I am?"

"Dr. Octavius, I didn't mean... I mean, you did help back at Pier 56... Hey, did you know you're bleeding?" Spider-Man quickly changed the subject.

"That hadn't escaped my notice," Otto said dryly, holding up his arms.

"Actually, I was referring to that scalp wound... I think one of those women ripped out a handful of your hair."

Otto probed his scalp, wincing when he found the wound. He had a horrible image of the woman who'd gotten him there waving his hair about like some Native American showing off a scalp taken from an enemy. "One question, Parker: Why me? Why the hell would the _Bugle _staff choose me? Did they know I had plans for today? Was this some twisted new method of stopping a crime?"

"The staff doesn't pick; the women of the city do, and you won by a landslide. I read some of the letters they sent. They see you as some sort of tragic, tortured figure who could be healed by their love." Spider-Man shrugged. "Then you have the women who just love a bad guy."

Otto just stared. _You have got to be kidding me... _"Or it could be the fact that you run around the city all wild-haired and shirtless, like some sort of romance novel cover model," Spider-Man continued. "Albeit a _retired _cover model whose let himself go."

Otto decided to let that last go for the moment. "I'll have you know," he said stiffly, "that finding clothing that suits my needs is nearly impossible. I'm not dressed like this by choice."

The tentacles had been avidly paying attention to this conversation. **_It is a good look for you, Father. And if you lost a little weight..._**

..._**maybe let your hair grow out a bit...**_

..._**and tights! Pretty, pretty green tights...**_

_**No tights! Did that last electric shock fry your circuits or something?**_

_**But they look so good on Spider-Man. You can really see his bu-**_

_**You are so not finishing that!**_

"Er, um, Doc? You have this really, really _weird _expression on your face."

Otto blinked. He wondered how long Spider-Man had been standing in front of him, waving his hand in front of Otto's face. "At what point did my life get so surreal that I'm getting fashion advice from a guy in tights and a bunch of mechanical tentacles?"

"They give you fashion advice?" Spider-Man asked. Then he shook his head. "Don't answer that. Look, we need to get you out of here before more women see you and start another riot. C'mon, I'll escort you back home."

"So you'll be able to see where my lair is? How stupid do you think I am, arachnid?" Otto snorted. He wasn't that desperate; now that he knew what to look out for, he wouldn't be caught unprepared again.

"It's your funeral, Doc," Spider-Man said, shrugging. With a flick of his wrist, he shot out a line of webbing and, almost faster than Otto could see, was hurtling through the air, quickly vanishing from sight.

_That was too easy... No way Peter would give up like that. _

_**You think he is going to follow us, Father?**_

_Most likely._

_**Can we kill him if he does?**_

Otto was suddenly struck by how disturbing it was to hear what sounded like a bunch of teenage girls casually discussing murder. _No. He may follow us, but he did help us escape from those women, and much as it pains me to admit it, I am grateful for that._

They took a zigzagging path to the abandoned warehouse, with one tentacle keeping an eye out for Spider-Man. Halfway there, the sentinel alerted Otto that the wall-crawler had been spotted.

_Time for evasive maneuvers, _he said. The tentacles immediately climbed down the side of the building that had served as their last perch, into a narrow alley. Now, he just had to find an entrance to the sewers. It wasn't his preferred method of travel, which was why he'd put it off until he knew for certain that Spider-Man was following them. There wasn't an entrance in the alley, but there should be a manhole close by.

With that in mind, he stepped out of the alley... and realized the events of the day had ruffled him so much that he hadn't even though to look to see where he was, or how many people were out and about.

He realized his mistake a second too late. The 'where' was a strip of clothing and accessory stores lining both sides of the street. And as for how many... well, at least one of the stores must have been having a sale, because there was a huge crowd of women in 'aggressive female shopper' mode, a madness similar to that of 'shopping on Christmas Eve' mode but with more screaming, biting, and clawing.

And, of course, they'd found out about this sale by seeing the advertisement in the morning edition of the _Daily Bugle._

"Hey! Isn't that that Dr. Octavius guy the _Bugle _was talking about?"

So much for sneaking out of there unnoticed. _Run. Fast. Get me out of here! _The tentacles were slow to react, however; their attention had been caught by the mannequins displayed in the nearest window. **_Oooh, pretty..._**

_Now is not the time! _The women were all becoming aware of his presence, and while they hadn't surged forward en masse yet, it was only a matter of time... "Yeah! It is him!"

"Think he'd go out on a date with me?"

"Not if I get to him first!"

Otto decided not to wait for the tentacles to react; he needed to get out of there, _now. _So he ran, painfully aware that he hadn't really done anything so strenuous since the tentacles had started doing things for him. _Wow, I really _am _out of shape..._

Something soft landed on his head, and bright pink lace obscured his vision for a moment until one of the tentacles pulled it off. If he'd had breathe to spare, he would have choked when realized it was a bra. So now women were throwing their purchases at him! At least, he _hoped _this was newly purchased; he'd hate to think someone had ripped theirs off to throw at him.

_**Oh, neat! What is it? **_

He made it back into the alley. "Let's go," he began.

"Why? You brought this on yourself, Doc," Spider-Man said, neatly landing on the ground beside him. "I offered to help you, but... hey, why is one of the tentacles wearing a bra?"

Otto blinked; while he'd been running, the upper right tentacle had slipped its head through the bra straps, and the slinky garment had slid halfway down the tentacle's sinuous length and looked as if it had become tangled in the segments.

"So, what was it you were saying about helping?" Otto asked. His glance flickered to the alley's entrance, where the women were warily watching. Good; they were smart enough at least to stay out of a potential fight.

"Well, if you agree to turn yourself in, I'll help you get through this day alive."

"Turn myself in?" Otto's eyes narrowed.

"You can get help," Spider-Man pleaded. "You don't have to live like this!"

Otto pretended to consider this as he watched one of the women tentatively enter the alley's mouth. Another followed behind her. Suddenly, a rather malicious idea came to him. "No, Spider-Man! Leave me alone! Don't hurt me!" he screamed.

"Wha-?" Spider-Man began. Then whatever ability he had that seemed to warn him of danger kicked in, and he turned around just as the women closest to him began to hit him with their purses. Otto would have given one of his flesh and blood arms to see the expression on Peter's face as the women piled on him, screaming things like, "I never liked you, Spider-Man," and "How DARE you try to hurt our Ockie?!"

He took that opportunity to run, and this time, he didn't bother with evasive tactics. He didn't think Spider-Man was going to be getting away any time soon.

XXX

All he wanted to do was to crawl under his blankets, curl up in a little ball, and stay that way until this whole horrible thing blew over. Unfortunately, before that happened, he needed to have The Talk with tentacles.

He really, really wished he could just throw himself into the Hudson river and spare himself the embarrassment.

"We need to talk." Otto spoke aloud; he always did, when he was alone. He felt he needed to hear a voice that wasn't in his head, even if it was his own voice.

_**Yes we do, Father.**_

He took a seat on the edge of his bed, and the upper left tentacle rested across his lap as he struggled to disentangle the bra straps from its segments. He could actually feel the actuator's disappointment at this.

"You see, I feel very strongly for you, but I think of you as my children." Damn, the thing was stuck pretty good; an elaborate Gordian knot of satin spaghetti straps. He really didn't think he had the energy to figure out. And since there were several delicate wires in that area, cutting would be an arduous task.

_**So? Does that make you love us less than those women?**_

_Love? They're taking this _really _seriously... _"No, it means I love you differently. You're suffering from an Oedipus complex; your feelings are natural, but you must get over it."

He could feel the tentacles' puzzlement. **_What do buildings have to do with love?_**

Now it was Otto's turn to be puzzled. "Oh," he realized, "not 'edifice,' it's 'Oedipus.' An Oedipus complex. It's a term taken from an old story about a king who was told a prophecy that his son would bring ruin to him, so he sent the boy, Oedipus, away. Oedipus grew up not knowing about his royal roots." He could feel the tentacles growing bored with his story, and wondered why he even bothered explaining things to him. "To make a long story short, Oedipus went on to kill his father and marry his mother." The killing bit perked them up. "So an Oedipus complex is when a child loves its parent, to the point of hating anyone of the opposite sex it sees as a rival for its affections. And that is what's happening with you." He pushed the tentacle off his lap, deciding to tackle the problem of the bra later. "You have to understand that, because you see me as your father, I can't return your affections."

Well, there were a lot of other reasons he couldn't return their affections, but he _really_ didn't want to go into those. Just thinking about them made his brain hurt.

The tentacles were silent for a long moment. **_We must consider this, _**they said finally.

"Good. Can you be quiet about it? I haven't gotten any sleep since yesterday, and I really, really need to lie down." The tentacles mumbled affirmatives. "Wake me in an hour." With that, he pulled of his coat and collapsed face down onto his bed.

XXX

The tentacles obediently woke them an hour later by poking their cold metal pincers into his ribs. He groaned and tried to bury his face into his pillow, but the tentacles were most insistent.

_Have you thought over what I told you? _Otto asked.

_**Yes we have, Otto.**_

It took him a moment for his sleep-fogged brain to realize that something wasn't right. _Wait... what did you just call me? _He slowly pushed himself up from the mattress. _Why did you just call me by name?_

One of the tentacles thrust itself in front of his face, followed by its three "sisters." **_You are our father in that you created us, but you are not our father in the sense you were speaking of. Because we are not your flesh and blood, there is nothing wrong with our affections._**

Otto barely heard what they were saying; his attention was focused entirely on what the actuators had done to themselves while he was napping. All four of them had large pink bows tied behind their pincers. **_Are we pretty, Otto?_**

Otto closed his eyes and let his face fall back on the pillow.

To be continued...****


	4. Why Me?

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Marvel.

Author's Note: I apologize; for some reason, this chapter didn't come together as well as I had hoped. And thanks for the info on the Electra complex. I had never heard of it before, and the dictionary I consulted when I was looking up the spelling of Oedipus used gender-neutral terms, as if it applied to both males and females. But I did go back and look up the Electra complex, and that one did state it was specifically for females. Huh. Who says you don't learn anything when writing fanfiction? To answer another thing brought up in reviews: Why yes, I am an "Invader Zim" fan, and that is what I couldn't help but think of when I came up with the "Impending Doom" title.

Oh, and I really, really feel sorry for Otto. He may not have been in his right mind before, but after this chapter, he's going to need some serious therapy...

**_How Do I Love Thee..._**

_Four – Why Me?!_

_**Don't go back to sleep, Otto.**_

_**Tell us what you think.**_

_**Yes, tell us, Otto.**_

**_I wanted a green ribbon, but they wouldn't let me have one. I am _not _'special!'_ _Tell them, Otto!_**

He wasn't sleeping, but how was he supposed to explain to them that he wasn't interested in them in that way? He doubted they even fully understood what they were doing; the AIs were learning, but they couldn't be that complex yet. No; until they either figured things out on their own, or he died of starvation – or embarrassment – he had no intention of opening his eyes and getting up. With his eyes closed, he could pretend the whole world hadn't gone totally nuts ever since the morning edition of the _Bugle _had come out.

_**Why are you ignoring us, Otto?**_

_**Don't you like the ribbons?**_

_**We did this for you! Look at us! Complement us! You said you preferred us to those other women, so prove it!**_

_**Hey, did you hear something?**_

Suddenly, the tentacles snapped to attention, immediately putting aside their feminine demands. _If only real women could do that so easily... _

_Wait... What did you just say?_

_**There is something here, Otto. Can you hear it?**_

His bed was in what had once been the warehouse's main office, and Otto had shut and locked the door. He didn't open the door, not wanting to tip off his location to whoever was out there, but he could listen through the tentacles' senses. The tentacles remained immobile so there'd be no sound to cover up whatever had caught their attention. The sound was almost too soft to hear, at first, but then he was able to make it out: footsteps. _Someone found us!_

**_Spider-Man! _**the tentacles hissed in unison.

Otto wasn't so sure. While the arachnid was surely on the look for him – assuming he survived his battering by the angry women – Otto didn't think he'd be able to hear Spider-Man coming. Spider-Man was silent; this intruder sounded like...

Like...

Like the prelude to disaster.

_Is it me, or are there a _lot _of people out there?_

The tentacles had heat sensors; by shutting his eyes and concentrating, he could 'see' everything that they could. And with the heat sensors, they could see countless bright blobs of heat outside the door – as well as all along the wall at his back. The warehouse was surrounded, and Otto didn't think it was the SWAT team.

**_Those women found us! _**Their rage was like a knife jab to his skull, and he almost staggered. **_They followed us! We'll kill them! Kill them all! You're ours, not theirs! Ours!_**

Briefly, Otto wondered what he was going to do when the tentacles started to be jealous of each other. He suddenly realized he was going to have to be very, very careful not to play favorites with them.

_We're not going to kill anyone, _he scolded them. _We're going to escape before they realize I'm here._

_**How, Otto?**_

_By... Uh... _It was at that point that he realized his emergency escape plans would be useless. Breaking through the wall wasn't an option, with women surrounding the building and filling the open area of the warehouse. Then there was his escape plan that involved the sewer. That was out, too – he'd have to pass the angry mob to get to the entrance. There wasn't a window in this small office for him to go out – and even if there was, there was still the fact that he was surrounded by a swarm of crazy women. _All _of his plans were ruined by the women's presence. When he'd made them all, a bunch of crazy, lustful women hadn't been a problem he'd foreseen.

Up wasn't an option, either. The office ceiling was filled with heavy metal pipes that unfortunately hadn't corroded enough to be easily broken through. Given time and the right leverage, he could do it – but not before the women busted down the door and did whatever unholy things they had planned for him.

_I'm open for ideas._

_**Unless you let us slaughter them all, we are in deep trouble, Otto.**_

_Yeah? _Otto grumbled. _Tell me something I don't know._

_**You are wearing only your boxers.**_

Otto blinked and glanced downward. _Oh, my... _Okay, so he'd forgotten that little fact. _Great. Anything else I need to know?_

_**You left your clothes in a pile outside the door.**_

_Outside... out there... with them... _And it wasn't like he had a lot of spare clothing. He didn't exactly fit into most normal outfits anymore. If he curled up in a fetal position under his bed, would they find him?

_**Those... women are most tenacious. They would find you.**_

_**Besides, you would never fit under the bed.**_

_**You are not completely undressed! We still have our ribbons!**_

_**And this 'bra' thing is still tangled in my segments. Is this not enough clothing for you?**_

Otto could see only two options: Barricading himself in this room without food and water for however long it took for whatever madness that had infected these women to fade – or for however long it took them to break down the rotting door - or go out there and reason with them. Maybe if he could just talk to them before they tackled him, this whole thing could be resolved without him losing more skin and hair.

_I'm going to open the door a crack, and I want one of you to grab my clothing._

_**We're going out there? Are you nuts, Otto?!**_

There were probably doctors out there who had debated that very question. He wondered if they'd made money from it. _Would you prefer staying in here for the rest of my life? With no food and water, I wouldn't last very long._

**_There are hundreds of rats in here. We could kill them for you to eat._**

_**If we provided food for you, we would be like your wives!**_

He hadn't known there was that big a rat infestation. Suddenly, he wanted to get out of there now more than ever. He crossed over to the door. _Is anybody on the other side? _When the tentacles answered in the negative, he slowly opened the door just far enough for one of the tentacles to slip through to grab his clothing.

**_Otto? There's nothing here. _**The tentacle retracted, pulling the door shut behind it.

_What?! Are you sure?_

**_Sorry, Otto. _They _must have your clothing. _**There was a moment of silence, during which Otto knew the tentacles were discussing the situation without him. **_We have some ribbon left. Will that help you?_**

Otto had a horrifying image of himself walking out of the room, pink ribbons wound about himself like a woman's tube top and a big oversized bow on his head. A hysterical giggle escaped him; maybe that would be enough to scare the women away. He knew that _he _would certainly be horrified.

_I'm going to wrap myself in my blanket, _he told them. _We're going out there, and I'm going to stay calm, and talk to them as though they were reasonable people, and maybe they'll give my clothing back and leave me alone._

**_Or they will tear you to pieces. _**One of the tentacles nudged the deep cut on his arm.

Otto tried not to think about that as he draped his blanket around himself. He now wished he'd been able to steal a better one; it may have been the warmest one he could find, but the little yellow duckies weren't going to make statement he would have preferred. Worse, it looked like a toga – he felt like some sort of drunken frat boy.

He took a deep breath. _Ready?_

_**No.**_

_Too bad. _Steeling his nerves, he threw the door open.

His first thought is that there were far, far more of them than he'd estimated. His second was that maybe living on rats wouldn't be so bad, after all... No. No way was Dr. Octopus going to be defeated by a couple hundred women! He'd never live it down. _I bet the Green Goblin never have to deal with anything like this! Lucky bastard._

His entrance drew the gaze of everyone in the room. He heard soft murmurs of, "there he is," and "I saw him first!" and realized he'd have to diffuse the situation quickly before they attacked.

"Hello, ladies," Otto said, plastering a smile on his face. He began to take a few steps forward. His plan was to keep them calm long enough for him to walk towards the door, and then run like hell as soon as he was in the open. It wasn't going to be easy; he was eerily reminded of the scene at the end of Alfred Hitchcock's _The Birds _where the protagonists were walking softly through the flock birds, knowing that one wrong move could set them off... "I'm so pleased that you all came to see me today."

**_Do you mean that, Otto? _**The tentacles hissed in displeasure.

_You know I don't!_

"You caught me at an awkward time, however. I was just taking a nap, and now I can't seem to find my clothing. If you would be kind enough to return it, I would be very, very grateful." _Ugh... Are they really buying this? Rosie would have dumped my ass if I'd sounded this pathetic when we were dating. I hate myself for this... _However, they seemed to be hanging on his every word, as if his voice had mesmerized them. Maybe this would work after all!

"Uh, here you go, Dr. Octavius," a woman said breathlessly, coming forward to offer him his shoes. He smiled at her, and she blushed. A second woman handed him his socks. Another stood behind her, holding his pants in a tight grip.

"I'll give them back if you listen to a poem I wrote just for you," this one said.

Otto's smile wavered. "Uh, all right." He liked poetry; after all, he'd taken a class devoted to the subject back in college. Admittedly, he'd only taken the class because Rosie happened to be taking it and he'd wanted to use it to get to know her, but it had helped him develop an appreciation for the subject. And realize what a chick magnet it could be.

The woman handed him his pants, pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of her pocket, and began. "Oh, Dr. Octavius, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways! One, two, three, four, five, six..."

By the time the woman hit twenty-five, Otto realized that this was all there was to the poem. And she was still going on. "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two..." Otto twitched. This wasn't poetry; it was cruel and unusual torture.

"Uh, right, thanks," Otto said, pushing past her. "Does anybody have my coat?" he asked hopefully.

"Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one..."

"I have it!

"No you don't! I have it!"

"You lying bitch! I found it first!"

_Uh-oh... _Otto had the horrible feeling things were suddenly about to go bad.

The crowd cleared around two women who had hold of the ends of his coat and were engaged in a vicious tug-o-war with it. "I'm going to give it to him, and he's going to go out with ME!"

"Let go! It's mine to give to him!"

"Hey, will you two just give it to Dr. Octavius? He's obviously not going to go out with either one of you freaks!"

"Yeah... and the ducks are kinda scaring me..."

"Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four..."

First one woman ran forward, grabbing an end of the coat, then another moved to assist the woman on the other side. This was enough to divide most of the women into teams, and suddenly they were all fighting for the honor of giving him back his coat.

"No!" Otto yelled, but the women didn't hear him over their own cries. And then, suddenly, horribly, there was a loud ripping sound. The coat's weave had been weakened by the tears Otto had put in the back to make room for the tentacles; it couldn't take being pulled in so many directions at once. Suddenly the women all went flying backwards as his beautiful long coat became a much shorter one.

Otto could only stare. He felt like he'd lost a best friend. "My coat..." he said weakly

"One hundred and thirty-seven, one hundred and thirty-eight..."

_**Otto! Now would be a good time to run! The women are stunned!**_

"My coat..."

_**Ooh! Can we get black leather now?**_

"My coat..."

**_Will you shut up about the damn coat already? _**The upper right tentacle darted forward and snatched the upper portion of the coat from the women still clinging to it. **_Here. Let's go before the next thing ripped in half is you!_**

The tentacles forced him into action. For the third time that day, Otto found himself running for his life, though he made sure not to lose his grip on his clothing. He'd put what remained of it on as soon as they had escaped this madness.

Which was easier said than done, of course. The warehouse Otto had chosen had once been in the middle of several others of its kind, but many had collapsed with age, and now the area was very, very open. And very, very crowded... the countless crazy women that read the _Bugle _had made use of the open space by packing as many of themselves in as possible.

Without being told, the tentacles lifted him above the level of the crowd and walked him over their heads. While the women would have eagerly flung themselves at him, they were a bit more wary of going after the tentacles, and moved out of the way whenever a tentacle's pincers descended. Otto would have been pleased, but on thought kept nagging at him: could they see up his boxers?

**_Otto, they're following us! _**There were a few buildings around them now, but there was too much space between them for him to travel on top of them. **_Can we please kill them?_**

Otto thought quickly. What could distract the women? _Stop for a moment, _he commanded. The tentacles obeyed, though they complained. Otto extricated a sock from his handful of clothing and waved it like a flag. "I have a gift for one of you lucky women!" he said. With that, he flung it into the crowd.

Total chaos erupted as the women fought over the sock. _Gogogo! _he told the tentacles, and they obeyed instantly, moving with speed he hadn't even known they had. The wind tore the duck blanket lose from his shoulders, and it went flying backwards. _We need to find somewhere that I can get dressed. Not on top of a building – if Spider-Man's still looking for me, I don't want him to see me in my boxers._

The tentacles ducked around the corner of a building. There didn't seem to be anybody in sight, so Otto figured it was safe. He began to pull on his pants, which had mercifully survived their captivity with the writer of the 'poem.'

"Pink ribbons? A bra? Oh, darling, we told those women you were one of us!"

Otto blinked. He hadn't even noticed the three men round the corner, all of them watching him with a peculiar expression. "I... beg your pardon?"

One of the men came closer, placing a hand on Otto's arm and giving him a lascivious smile. "It's okay. We know why you were so scared of those women."

_Oh... My... God..._

The other two men joined the first, patting Otto comfortingly.

**_Otto? Why are these men holding you like all those women wanted to?_**

**_Why are they looking at you like that?_**

**_Otto... they're scaring me..._**

_Get me out of here _now!!!!!

He was up the side of the building almost before he finished his command. Fortunately, they were far enough into the city that the buildings were now close enough together that Otto could put several blocks between himself and his male suitors.

_**What did those men want?**_

_Does it matter?!_

_**They made you very uncomfortable.**_

Otto wasn't in the mood to explain homosexuality to the tentacles. Instead, he went back to dressing himself. He stared mournfully at the ruin of his coat, the only article of clothing he could fit over his upper torso. _At least the tentacle harness doesn't get in the way of pants, or I'd really be in trouble. _He sighed and zipped up the leather vest that served as the coat's inner lining.

"Love da ribbods, Doc," a peculiar voice said. Otto tensed; had those men found him again?

He turned, then sighed with relief. "I'm glad it's just you, Parker."

"Really? Cuz you wered't so glad whed you bade dose girls hid be and break by dose."

Otto blinked. "What the hell did you just say?"

"By dose! Dey broke by dose! Wid deir purses! Dere was a girl wid fibe dollars word of peddies id her purse! Fibe hudred peddies! Id hurd, you sudubabidge!"

Otto tried to sort that one out. Had he just been insulted? "Peter? You sound like you're speaking an alien language. Is there something wrong with your nose or something?"

"Id's broked!" Spider-Man shrieked.

"Sorry," Otto said, not feeling that way at all. "Want to hear about my day? Women ripped pieces from my hide, men actually hit on me, my coat is ruined, and the tentacles have decided they're teenage girls with an Oedipus complex."

"Elecdra," Spider-Man corrected. "Whed deir girls, id's an Elecdra cobplex."

"Whadeber," Otto muttered. Then, "Argh! You've got me doing it, too!"

"Sorry." He sounded as apologetic as Otto had earlier. "Waid... You addracded bed, doo?" He gave a snorting sound that might have been a laugh, but it came out funny and made him yelp, "Ow!"

"I 'addracded bed'?"

"Guys," Peter clarified. "You dow. You're righd, dough... your day is worse. Ad leasd I heal fasd."

"And it's all thanks to the _Daily Bugle," _Otto snarled. "Why me? Why?!"

"You're jusd de vicdib ob de year," Spider-Man said. "De crazy girls always go afder de guy de _Bugle _chooses."

_I'm their 'victim of the year?' I _should _go over there and give them a piece of my mind. But that wouldn't make the past few hours just disappear. No, I need to make a point. I need to make sure they never make a fool of me again._

And then he had an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. He asked Peter, "These women... they do this every year, do they?"

"Dey wend afder Harry lasd year. Sub ob dese are de sabe girls."

"So... they only want me because of the stupid paper, not out of any feelings for me?" Despite his feelings for the hoards of women that dogged his tracks, he couldn't help but be a little hurt.

"Mosd. I did read a lod of ledders aboud you, so a lod ob girls are dinking ob you, bud halb dose girls jusd chase you 'cuz you were chosed."

So he could get about half of them off his back, then... He smiled wickedly.

Spider-Man's voice was suspicious. "Whad are you going do do, Dr. Ocdabius?"

Otto grinned savagely. "I'm going to go talk to J. Jonah Jameson."

To be continued...

Spider-Man Translation Guide (or, a select few sentences to show how to speak 'highly exaggerated broken nose speak.')

"Love da ribbods, Doc," is "Love the ribbons, Doc."

"Really? Cuz you wered't so glad whed you bade dose girls hid be and break by dose." Is "Really? 'Cause you weren't so glad when you made those girls hit me and break my nose."

"By dose! Dey broke by dose! Wid deir purses! Dere was a girl wid fibe dollars word of peddies id her purse! Fibe hudred peddies! Id hurd, you sudubabidge!" With a liberal use of consonant exchanges, this becomes "My nose! They broke my nose! With their purses! There was a girl with five dollars worth of pennies in her purse. Five hundred pennies! It hurt, you sonuvabitch." Tut, tut, Spidey... you shouldn't insult Ock's mom.

My grammar isn't really bad – when Spidey says 'broked' or 'chosed,' he really does mean broken or chosen!

"Bed" is "Men." Boy... it's a good thing Spider-Man heals fast because if Mary Jane had to put up with this, I think she'd go nuds. Er... nuts.

Now you should know enough to be able to figure out the rest on your own! Or go steadily insane, as I have secretly planned...

Just one more chapter to go!


	5. Sweet Revenge

Disclaimer: For the last time, they aren't mine. They're Marvel's.

Author's Note: Here it is; the final chapter. It may be a little anticlimactic after the events of the previous chapters, but this is pretty much what I had planned for it. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review; I hope you enjoyed the fic!

_**How Do I Love Thee...**_

_Five – Sweet Revenge_

Spider-Man let him go. Not out of any sense of compassion or anything; Otto got the feeling that he wanted to see Jameson get what he deserved – so long as Otto promised not to hurt him.

"Neither I nor my tentacles will harm one gray hair on his head," Otto vowed.

**_But, Otto! This Jameson is the man responsible for your problems!_**

_Most of them, yes. Don't worry. He won't get off lightly. _"I won't even be doing anything criminal. I just want to have a little talk with him, nothing more."

And so Spider-Man left him. Otto wanted to march straight to the _Bugle_'s main office, but the tentacles pointed out there was no way he'd make it through the city without drawing the attention of more crazy women.

_**You definitely need a new outfit, Otto.**_

_**Black leather? Puh-lease?**_

_If I get a black leather trenchcoat, can you lose the ribbons for now? I want to intimidate Jameson, and I don't think we could do it if you're all so... pretty._

**_So you _do _think we're pretty? Oh, Otto! _**One of the tentacles rubbed his cheek.

**_Lea-THER! Lea-THER! _**

**_But... I want _green!**

The tentacles permitted him to remove the ribbons, and he stuffed them in his pocket. He thought about just chucking them over the side of the building, but he knew the tentacles would be pissed at him if he did. Otto remembered all the times he'd had Rosie mad at him; this would be just like that, times four. And he wouldn't be able to hide in his lab from the tentacle's wrath.

He permitted the tentacles to take them to a well-known store that carried leather items. Fortunately, the clientele of this store didn't run towards the crazy feminine types, though the store clerk was female. And when he strode past her, grabbed a long black coat that looked like it would fit and a set of matching gloves (since his hadn't been returned with the rest of his clothing), and walked out without paying, she only smiled at him and blushed.

Huh. He hadn't realized his current problem could actually _help _him with his crimes.

He took a few minutes to let the tentacles cut holes in the back of the coat for the them to fit through, while he ripped out the vest lining to his old coat so he'd have some sort of shirt to wear underneath. Peter's comment about how he looked like a shirtless model who'd really let himself go had kinda stung. Then he headed towards the _Bugle _offices, making certain to stay out of reach of the people on the streets below. He did pause, just once, after launching himself onto a building with mirrored windows.

_Huh. I have to hand it to you – you were right; I _do _look good in black, _Otto conceded.

He could feel the tentacles' pleasure at his words. He ran a hand through his hair, which had developed a permanently windswept appearance. He was making a business visit, after all, and it was only proper to look his best.

When Otto reached the _Bugle, _he dropped to ground level, and the tentacles slipped under his coat. He had no fancy plans for entering; he just walked through the main doors, his coat flaring around him. He was tall enough to loom menacingly over the staff that worked in the offices on the lower floor, and yet, not one of them glanced up when he walked past. No one paid him any mind until he went to the reception desk near the elevator and asked where Jameson's office was.

The man never even hesitated as he gave Otto directions, though he obviously recognized him. Otto was starting to get the impression that nothing fazed the staff of the _Bugle._

Or all of them wished death on their boss. Otto was starting to suspect that was the case.

He made it all the way to the secretary's desk outside Jameson's office without being challenged. She didn't look up from her computer as she asked, "Got an appointment?"

"No, but I'm sure Mr. Jameson wouldn't want to refuse me," Otto said.

"He's about to go out to dinner with his wife," the secretary said. "Maybe he'll be able to fit you in when he gets back in an hour. Or you could talk to the city editor, Mr. Robinson. His office is right over there."

"Look, Ms..." Otto began.

"Brant," the woman replied automatically.

"Ms. Brant. How about you let me in, and I don't tear this place to pieces?"

The woman finally looked up. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as she tried to place him. Otto tapped the copy of the _Bugle_'s morning edition that sat on her desk, and her eyes widened.

"Uh..." the woman said. One of the tentacles slipped through the open front of his coat and smashed the phone on her desk so she couldn't immediately call the police, then went back in to hiding.

"I'll just let myself in," Otto smiled, opening the door to Jameson's office.

Jameson was seated behind his desk, talking to a short, matronly woman Otto presumed was his wife. At Otto's entrance, he glanced up, then scowled. "Not another one of you freaks. Look, I already heard the one about how this isn't reality, it's all a computer simulation, and that you're the one who's going to save us all. Get out of here before I call security."

Otto blinked. _Okay, I admit, I do look like some kind of _Matrix _reject, like some sort of cross between Neo and a sentinel, but does he really think I'm that crazy?_

**_You _do _listen to the voices in your head, _**he was gently reminded.

"Security? What security? I just walked in here, and no one said a thing to me."

Jameson glared. "Wait for me in the car, honey," he told his wife. "I'll take care of this." Jameson hadn't seemed to recognize Otto yet, but his wife had. As she walked past him, she ran her hand along his arm and flashed him a coy smile. Jameson didn't notice; he was busy fishing a cigar out of his drawer. "All right, so we don't have security. Okay, make it quick; I'm getting ready to go to dinner. What do you want?" His hand was lifting the cigar to his lips when it was suddenly snatched out of his fingers by one of the tentacles, which had slipped through the holes of coat to fan around their host.

"A smoke," Otto smiled. "Believe me, after the day I've been having, I need this way more than you do."

"Y-you're Doctor Octopus!" Jameson yelped, finally exhibiting the keen observational skills that had made him one of the city's top journalists. "What are you doing here?"

Otto winced. "For starters, I'd like to know what you were thinking when you came up with the whole 'Doctor Octopus' thing. It doesn't exactly inspire fear, does it?" One of the tentacles handed him a lighter, and he lit the cigar, blissfully taking the first puff.

Jameson recovered his composure, encouraged by the fact that Otto wasn't beating him to a pulp with the tentacles. Otto had to admire the man's courage. "Oh, c'mon! You've got eight arms! What else would you be called? Would you prefer to be Tarantula-Man? Doctor Spider? Science Squid?"

"I have _six _arms," Otto corrected flatly. "And I would rather be called by my own name."

"Too late. The _Bugle_'s been using it so often, I'm afraid you're stuck with it. Besides, you're a supervillain. You need a name! Something catchy that our readers will remember! Just think; every time they even see an octopus, they'll think of you and shiver with fear!"

"Or wonder what kind of _lame_ supervillain would be named after a sea creature." Otto glowered down at Jameson.

"Hoffman!" Jameson's yell made Otto jump. A nervous-looking man entered the office, heading straight towards his boss's desk without so much as glancing at Otto. _Jameson's got this guy really well trained..._

"Yes, sir?" Hoffman squeaked.

"I seem to remember you having something to do with coming up with the name 'Doctor Octopus.' How would you like full credit for it?"

Hoffman's eyes lit up, but then he frowned. "Really, sir?" Hoffman sounded wary, as if Jameson never offered anything unless it was advantageous to himself. Otto wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

"Would I offer something like this if I didn't mean it?" Jameson barked.

"Ah..."

"No, of course I wouldn't! I mean it, Hoffman. Full credit. Every time someone says it, you get a quarter. No, make it a dime." Jameson gave Hoffman what was probably supposed to be a friendly grin.

"What's the catch?" Hoffman asked.

"No catch! Think of all the perks! Every time someone says Doctor Octopus, they'll think of you." Hoffman started to look excited. He clearly seemed to think he was finally getting the recognition he was due. "Just one thing, though... See that guy in black standing behind you? Explain to him why you compared him to some jellyfish."

"Mollusk," Otto automatically corrected.

Hoffman turned, and from the way the blood drained from his face, he must have immediately recognized Otto. This was confirmed when he slumped to the floor in a faint.

"There's your man," Jameson said, pointing to Hoffman. "Eviscerate him, not me."

"I'm not here to hurt anyone. Actually, the name is not why I'm here." Otto stepped over Hoffman's prone form and dropped a rather crumpled copy of that morning's _Bugle _on Jameson's desk.

Jameson looked down. "Yeah? What about it?"

"What about it? Mr. Jameson, since this morning, I have been buried under a pile of women, I have been clawed," he pulled back his coat sleeve to show Jameson the still-raw scratches on his arm, "smashed, groped, had my privacy invaded, my clothing stolen, and been hit on by _men!_"

"You have a problem with homosexuals?" Jameson asked.

"I do when they grab my butt!" Otto spat. "And all because of some highly inaccurate article your paper put out!"

"'Highly inaccurate?'" Jameson demanded. "Are you accusing me of libel?" He grabbed the _Bugle _and flipped to the article. "My reporters are all professionals! They wouldn't print something untrue! What about the article is so libelous?"

"Uh..." truthfully, Otto hadn't really done more than glance through the article. "Well, for one thing, I do _not _have an Oreo fetish."

"Ooooh... Are you going to sue me now?" Jameson looked unimpressed. Otto didn't blame him; what did he have to fear? Even if Otto did bring him to court, he somehow doubted that they'd let the famous Doctor Octopus leave.

"No. I'm going to talk to you like a reasonable person, and ask that you print a retraction."

Jameson stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Yeah, right. Do you have any idea how many papers this sells? I mean, check out these photos one of my freelancers brought in earlier." He showed Otto a glossy black-and-white picture of a pile of women, one gloved hand the only visible part of the man trapped beneath. "Priceless! The great Doctor Octo – excuse me, _Octavius_ – defeated by a mob of unarmed women."

_Damn you, Parker! _He was the only one who could have taken the picture. "That's it, Peter; next time, I'm going to do more than kidnap your girlfriend," he growled. He didn't know he'd spoken aloud until Jameson looked up at him.

"You kidnapped Parker's girlfriend? How many girls have you taken hostage?" He looked like a bloodhound on the trail of something big.

"Just Peter's girl – you know, the feisty redhead. Mary Jane or something like that."

Jameson was momentarily speechless. "You mean my son's fiancé?"

"No, she's Peter Parker's girlfriend, or so I assumed. When I took her, she was about to kiss him and I had to throw a car at them to get their attention." Otto wondered how the conversation had taken such a bizarre turn.

"She left my son for _Parker? _I'll kill him! I'll wring his scrawny little neck..."

Well. He'd unintentionally found the perfect way to get back at Parker. "Back to what we were talking about before," Otto said, interrupting what was building up to quite a tirade.

"What? Oh, right... It's too late to print a retraction. The evening edition is going to be on its way to the presses in about ten minutes. It'll all blow over by next week; it always does," Jameson said. "Now, if you meant what you said about not killing me, I need to go and have dinner with my wife."

Otto tossed the stub of his cigar to the floor and ground it under his heel. "All right," he said mildly. "I guess there's nothing I can do about it. Enjoy your dinner. And tell your wife I said 'hi,'" he added.

And with that, he left. As he promised, he hadn't harmed Jameson, though he could feel the tentacles' disappointment. All in all, the talk had gone about how he'd expected; Jameson hadn't gotten his position by being the easily intimidated type. He hoped the city editor was another matter... He'd have to hurry, since he was certain that by now someone had called the cops.

Otto slipped in to the office Brant had shown him, just as Jameson swept past on his way to see his wife. The man inside was hastily giving the evening edition one last look-over before being brought to the press, but he looked up as Otto entered, and his jaw dropped.

Otto gave the man his most charming grin. "You're Robbie Robertson, right? Do you have the power to stop the presses?" The man was too frightened to speak; he could only nod. "I'd like you to do me a little favor while your boss is gone..."

XXX

Otto perched atop the corner of the _Daily Bugle _building, his coat billowing around him and the tentacles fanned around him. He knew that, in the failing light, he looked like some sort of gargoyle leering down at the city below him.

He knew he should probably be getting out of there, even though the cops had already come and gone, but he wanted a good view of what was going to happen next. The _Bugle_'s evening edition had gone on sale half an hour ago; now it was time to see just how many of these women in the city truly were swayed by the articles.

**_You are sad about what you have done? _**the tentacles questioned. **_You have gotten rid of the women!_**

"I know"He hesitated, aware he was treading in dangerous territory here. "But it felt nice to be wanted again. Knowing that they only desired me because some stupid article told them to... well, it hurts. For awhile, I wasn't some freak to be feared."

**_You aren't a freak, Otto. _**They curled around him, and he lightly patted each closed set of pincers. **_We would never reject you just because of some stupid paper._**

Otto didn't want to even think about what would happen if the tentacles rejected him. He had the feeling it would be very messy. "I know. And I appreciate that. It's just... it makes me really miss my Rosie. She loved me as much as all these women claimed to."His shoulders slumped. "I miss her so much!"

The tentacles were quiet a moment. Then one of them ventured, **_You still love her. You aren't over her yet._**

"I don't think I ever will be."

**_Then... then perhaps you aren't ready for our affections yet. _**The voice was tinged with sadness.

"I'm sorry." And he was; while he couldn't return the tentacles' affections, and wouldn't even consider it, he knew what it felt like to be rejected.

_**It is all right. We understand... Father.**_

'_Father...' _At least he now had one less thing to worry about. "Thank you," he said softly.

**_Look! They come! _**The tentacles turned their attention to the crowd of women bearing down on the _Daily Bugle. _Otto couldn't hear them from this height, but he could well imagine what they were screaming, with another name in place of his. Otto grinned.

It had been surprisingly easy to persuade Robbie Robertson to print a retraction of the 'Most Desirable Man' article due to a miscount – and say that the real winner had been none other than the paper's illustrious publisher, J. Jonah Jameson. He hoped that Jameson enjoyed the attention.

Below him, the women stormed the _Bugle _building. _I think this is going to keep everyone busy for awhile, don't you?_

The tentacles' delighted laughter echoed through his mind as they began the climb down the side of the building. Oh, Otto knew he'd still have to be careful – Peter had said that women had actually voted for him, and he didn't think all of them would change their minds about him just because of a retraction article. But this would get rid of the worst of them.

They stopped once at the window to Jameson's office, just in time to see the publisher backing away from the women entering his office in a screaming mob. Jameson whirled, looking for some escape route. His eyes met Otto's, and he shook his fist in rage. "You'll pay for this, Octopus!" Jameson's voice carried through the window. "Every year! Every year you will be this city's most desirable man!" Otto gave him a cocky salute, and dropped below the window just as the press of women crushed Jameson against the glass until he resembled one of those Garfields that people stuck to their car windows.

_**Now what, Father? **_

_We still have experiments to perform, and equipment to steal – er, liberate. I wouldn't say that life is 'good,' _he told them, for the sadness he felt still weighed heavily on his heart, _but it's as good as it's gonna get. C'mon; I never did get that equipment from ESU, and we really need to show off how good we look in black leather, right?_

_**You know, green tights would look awfully good with this coat!**_

'_**Awful' being the key word.**_

_**This coming someone who still has a bra tangled in her circuitry?**_

Okay, so maybe things could be a _bit_ better. He wondered if he could teach them the concept of 'grounded.'

The End


End file.
